Guard
by Simone Robinson
Summary: "-Gripped by a sudden terror that his master's grave would be lost. He'd grabbed a piece of wood and carved out the letters. Leonardo stared at it for a long moment, adjusted it so that it stood upright and propped it up with stones.-" Brotherhood. SAINW.


**Set in pre-SAINW**

* * *

**G** u a r d

* * *

He is my most beloved friend and my bitterest rival, my confidant and my betrayer, my sustainer and my dependent, and scariest of all, my equal.

**~ Gregg Levoy**

* * *

Raphael had been playing with his lighter. On. Off. On. Off. He'd been doing it for the last few hours. It was long past dusk and the darkness enveloped Leonardo. It was a comfort. It was a curse.

Leo stood at the freshly dug up dirt, staring and staring as if by some supreme act of will, he could turn back the time till before the fight. Before the death. Till before Donatello has disappeared. Till just _before_. When Michelangelo would still cling to him for comfort and Raphael would still stand beside him and mourn. When they were not two strangers brought together only by a common respect. A common honor. A common love.

But that precious bond was shattered. And its pieces lay cold in the dirt.

Raphael's lighter was off again, and Leonardo could hear the rustling of fabric as it was stuffed into his jacket. A small, red pinprick of an ember glowed at him through the black. He wondered where Raphael had smuggled the cigarettes from this time. Or who. Leonardo though it was probably one of the few low-lives left around the city. Raph had developed a habit of checking through the pockets for smokes, money, or anything else that could be of use to them. Leonardo turned a blind eye.

He wondered what time it was. Late? Early? The chill bit into his skin and, for the briefest moment, he wondered why he hadn't started wearing a coat or some form of protection against the cold, like Raphael had. Then he remembered why his brother has started the habit, and he pushed the thought out of his mind.

Leonardo swiped a hand over his eyes and turned from the grave. He moved into the darkness and for a moment, just a _moment_, held his brother's gaze. He looked away, and wished he hadn't.

But it was Raph's turn, his time.

Hi brother had moved forward, and was standing motionless, staring at the earth. He stayed like that for longer than Leonardo would have thought possible. He was about to turn and leave his brother to his silent watch. But then Raphael moved. One knee hit the dirt with a dull thud. He crouched low, ghosting a hand across the grave. Caring, reverent. He fisted the earth and knelt fully in the dirt. His head lowered and when his shoulders started to tremble, Leonardo slunk away and left his brother to his privacy.

When Leonardo returned a few hours later, his brother was gone, and in his place was a jagged cutting of wood jammed into the dirt at the grave.

It was crude and done almost frantically, desperately.

As if Raph had been gripped by a sudden terror that his master's grave would be lost. He'd grabbed a piece of wood and carved out the letters. They were rough, but still, somehow, done with the tenderest care. Leonardo stared at it for a long moment, adjusted it so that it stood upright and propped it up with stones. His brother's tribute secured, he pushed himself to his feet. He brushed the dirt from his knee guards and adjusted his bandana.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, and vowed to Master Splinter that he would return. It was security. A fail safe. After all, he'd never broken a promise to his father.

He turned and walked away.

It was years before he'd stand on that spot again.

Just a few days after, he'd loaded a bag with food, what little money he'd managed to scrape together and the old I-pod Mikey had given him for Christmas so many years before. He'd boarded a train and left the city. Sitting on the cracked leather seats with his headphones on, listening to his favorite artists. He'd loaded Seether, Bon Jovie and Creed as well, for old times sake and he listened to them till his battery was flat and he could sing every song off by heart.

What was he looking for? Was he searching for a reason too be missed? A way to erase all the terrible, terrible wrongs he'd done? Or did he just want to leave it all behind? Start anew? Leonardo hadn't known and he'd slouched in a fitful, disturbed sleep for the rest of the train journey. He'd slept like that ever since.

He spent hours in pubs along the way. He'd fought the urge at first, but after a while it just became too easy to go in and down glass after glass. But Leo didn't get drunk. He didn't get drunk. He didn't. Maybe it was a tolerance he'd built up from days with Raphael, but he didn't get drunk. He didn't. He couldn't.

He would down another glass

And so it went. Day after day. Helping where he could, but mostly drifting. Drifting and lost but not really. He knew where he was. But where he was going was anyone's guess.

After a while, he'd _almost_ settled in a little town. He'd found an empty apartment to crash in when it was cold. He had food, shelter, crime to fight. It was almost comfortable. He could ignore the pain in his chest for just a little while.

But of course, nothing that good could ever last.

And it was that town where he'd heard the news. He'd stood in a crowded square, masses of people gathering to watch. A fleet of blimps, of war planes had flocked. A dark cloud over the sky.

When the Shredders voice had boomed out, and his message of slavery, of damnation and destruction had reached their ears, Leonardo had known it was over. This time, it was truly over.

And he'd stood there and watched.

Some people laughed. Some people cried. Most people were silent.

Leonardo could remember one thing clearly about that day. The shriek. Primal and desperate. A woman clinging to her last hope, "God save us!"

Leonardo shut his eyes and mirrored her words, voice barely a whisper, "God save us."

He'd left a bag with food, what little money he'd managed to scrape together and the old I-pod Mikey had gave him for Christmas so many years before. He'd boarded a train and left the city. He'd left with no purpose. He came back with a black coat, fresh scars and a rucksack of memories. Armed with a purpose to make Shredder pay once and for all.

So he'd contacted April and Casey, and eventually, Raph and Mikey.

He remembered his first mission back with his brothers. Raphael had greeted him with a cold, off-ish stare, and Mikey had been anything but himself. But still. They were as close to whole as they could get. And Leonardo didn't know if he felt like laughing or crying.

So he did neither.

He did the only thing he knew how to do.

He led.

The mission had been an easy one. Half way through, though, Michelangelo had been injured and, after Leo has assured himself his brother would be able to get out alone, he'd set off to stop the bomb. Mikey had protested. But Leonardo had shaken his head and given him that smile that he knew to be firm, kind and patronizing all at once.

Leo had known that Michelangelo couldn't fight in his condition. But he'd gone in anyway, with no back up. Because it was Leonardo. The big brother. The leader. The one who was never allowed to waver. The one who was never allowed to loose faith and always had to remain strong. He had to be the one who saved all the innocents trapped in this building. So he'd trooped off to save the world by himself.

The rest was a blur of adrenaline and a frantic pulse. Breathing through the smoke, and tearing out what he could to slow everything down.

When the bomb had finally gone off, he'd come stumbling out, dark with dust and grime, covered in scrapes and the beginning of bruises. This time, Raphael was at Leonardo's side in an instant, an arm hooked beneath Leo's, gripping him, supporting him. Muttering words of support. Not quiet comfort. But something just as valuable. And Leo thought, at that moment, that if he had lost his sight to those shards of glass and stone…

It would be worth it, as long as things could stay like this. This moment. With Raphael keeping him steady, helping him with the burden. Like it used to be. Like he always had.

Leonardo's hands had clutched at his eyes, trying desperately to stem the blood flow. Tiny crumbs of debris and glass fell through his fingertips, nicking his skin.

But Leonardo took no notice.

Raphael was trying to pry his hands away, but Leonardo shook his head. Just a moment longer. Please. Just one moment longer. One. More. Minute.

But he'd been taken to the rebel base and left in the care of the medics. When he'd come too again with his eyes bandaged and a sick, sick fear in his stomach…

Raphael had gone, and only Michelangelo was left. But Leonardo could hear in his voice, he didn't want to be there.

But there was no one else left, was there?

So he'd sat there for weeks. Training when he could, talking to April when she had time. But that wasn't often. And when the bandages had come off and he'd sat, gripping at the counter and feeling so damn _sick_ with fear…

All his brother could say was, "Does it hurt?" Mikey sounded tentative, meek and it was so unlike him that it made Leonardo want to shout at his brother, provoke him and make him angry, make him shout back. _Anything._ He grit his teeth and fought the urge, instead he shook his head, lowering his hand, "No."

"What's it…?"

There was no need for Mikey to finish the question.

Leo took a breath, his fingers were digging into the smooth, wooden counter but his face, his voice, remained impassive.

Leonardo could remember being a child. Just barely. He could remember nights lying in his room in the house that smelt of incense, flour and tea. He could remember lying in bed, wrapped up in a scratchy woolen sheet, clinging to it. He could remember the feeling the fabric, plastered to his body, his skin damp with fear. It was _always_ too _dark._

However, Leonardo was no longer scared of the dark. He knew that and he _had_to _remember_ that.

He was _not_ scared of the dark

After a long silence he answered, his voice low, quiet and _almost_hoarse, "Dark." He whispered, "It's very, very dark."

And Mikey didn't seem to have an answer for that

So when they took off the bandages, there was a flicker of relief. Not completely blind. But nearly. Nearly. He'd donned dark glasses, taken Casey's old car and left again.

The car smelt of tobacco, a rich, stale sent that had long since settled into the interior, making its presence known every time one closed the windows. Leonardo tightened his grip on the flask in his hands. It was titanium steel and warm all the way through. It scorched his hands but still he clung to the warmth.

And stayed like that for days. Hiding, running. He had no time to mourn Casey's passing. No time to mourn the sting of regret as he watched Karai lead the armies.

Living on the edge.

And seeing far, far too much.

Memories that he'd call up for no one.

_Just running._

Until the day April called him.

He'd heard Raphael's voice in that dark, dank sewer tunnel. And all that desperate pain had turned to rage. Why hadn't they sorted this out? Why hadn't Leonardo been there? Why hadn't Raphael been there? What had they done to Mikey? April? Why couldn't they save Casey? Splinter?

Master Splinter.

That's what it always came back too.

Following orders.

_And not._

But they hadn't fought. No. Something had stopped them and sent Leonardo crashing to the floor.

He's lay slumped there, on the hard, dirty ground.

He could feel something that was not-quite fear and not-quite grief as it clawed its way out of his stomach, scratching and tearing at his throat until it starts to hurt too much and he opens his mouth. But he's silent, only taking in air. Huge gulps of air as he clutches at his sword until he could feel his knuckles drain of blood. They must be white. He notes. But he cannot be sure.

Beads of perspiration had begun to break out across his forehead and in hot patches across his body. The room had grown uncomfortably warm and he could feel the slick, wet trail of sweat against the skin on his neck.

"Leo. Raph. We need to talk."

_There it was_. Leonardo had to fight to remain impassive at the sound of his brother's voice. He had fought too damn _hard_ and it wasn't like him. It_ wasn't_like him but he _hadn't_sensed him coming.

He was slipping. This was a trick. It had to be.

Because Donatello _couldn't_ be back.

But he was. And Leonardo latched onto his shoulder with all his strength. His hand gripping him hard as the rest of the time passed in a blur. Euphoric. Painful.

And later that night, he sat in an old room at the base. He'd lit candles like he used to and sat in the middle of the floor.

He could hear the footsteps of his brother. Light, deft. But still just that much heavier than Mikey. Than Don.

He opened his eyes, squinting through the darkness. His glasses lay discarded with his coat on a pile on the floor.

Raphael didn't say a word. Just walked a few steps and slowly sat opposite him. There was a long moment of silence before Raphael spoke.

"So, tomorrow, huh?"

"Tomorrow. What do you think of their plan?"

"What do I think? I think there aint a bats chance in hell we're gonna succeed. Ya know dat doncha, fearless?"

"I know."

"Ya think we got da back up we need, eh?" His eyes were glinting.

"Oh I don't know Raph, are you up to me covering your sorry shell?"

"I dunno, Leo? Ya up ta da challenge?"

They were standing now, faces inches apart in banter, hot, blazing rivalry.

"Let's see, shall we?"

"Tomorrow."

Raphael clapped a hand on his shoulder, and Leonardo did the same, "Tomorrow."

And they shared a look. A blazing understanding.

Brothers for the last time.

Because the next day, they marched into defeat.

* * *

**What did you think?**


End file.
